“If Miss Pettengill prefers,” said Quincy, “I can make myself comfortable in the dining-room, and she can have my room to herself.”

He had started this speech to Uncle Ike, who left the room abruptly in the middle of it, and Quincy’s closing words fell on Alice’s ears alone.

“Why, certainly not,” said Alice; “sit down, Mr. Sawyer, and we will talk about something.  Don’t you think it is terrible?” As Quincy was contemplating his fair visitor, he could hardly be expected to say “yes” to her question.  “Perhaps you enjoy it?” said she.

“I certainly do,” answered Quincy, throwing his whole heart into his eyes.

“Well, I must differ with you,” said Alice.  “I never did like snow.”

“Oh, you were talking about the weather!” remarked Quincy.

“Why, yes,” said Alice.  “What else did you think I was talking about?”

Quincy, cool and self-possessed as he invariably was, was a trifle embarrassed.

Turning to Alice he said, “I see, Miss Pettengill, that I must make you a frank statement in order that you may retain your respect for me.  I know you will pardon me for not hearing what you said, and for what I am about to say; but the fact is, I was wondering whether you have had the best advice and assistance that the medical science of to-day can afford you as regards your eyes.”

“It is very kind of you, Mr. Sawyer, to think of me, and my trouble, and I will answer you in the same friendly way in which you have spoken.  I was taken sick one morning just as I was eating my breakfast I never felt better in my life than I did that morning, but the pain in my side was so intense, so agonizing, that by the time I reached my room and threw myself on the bed, physically I was a complete wreck.  A doctor was called at once and he remained with me from eight o’clock until noon before I became comfortable.  I thought I was going to get better right off, or I should have written to ’Zekiel.  Two other attacks, each more severe than the one preceding, followed the first, and I was so sick that writing, or telling any one else what to write, or where to write, was impossible.  Then I began slowly to recover, but I was very weak and what made me feel worse than ever was the fact that the trouble with my eyes, which before my illness I had attributed to nearsightedness, was now so marked that I could not see across the room.  I could not even see to turn a spoonful of medicine from a bottle on the table beside my bed.  The Pettengills, Mr. Sawyer, are a self-reliant race, and I concluded in my own mind that the trouble with my eyes was due to my illness, and that when I recovered from that, they would get well; but they did not.  I was able, physically, to resume my work, but I could not see to read or write.  I sent for my employer and told him my condition.  He advised me to consult an oculist at once.  In fact, he got a carriage and took me to one himself.  The oculist said that the treatment would require at least three months; so my employer told me I had better come home, and that when I recovered I could have my place back again.  He is a fine, generous-hearted man and I should be very miserable if I thought I was going to lose my place.”